Should Have Seen It Coming

 

Yesterday, I did a beauty treatment called lash lift. As the name suggests, it's supposed to give a lift to your eyelash, as in push up bra. I regret it.

My lashes are categorized thin and short, the beauticitian told me. Okay, I think, I know I'm not up to the standart but at least she's not pulling punches. Since she's the expert, she should know better of what to do to enhance the lacking in my lashes. I proceeded with caution.

In god honest truth, I didn't enjoy the process of this treatment. I didn't feel relax nor excited to see the result. I just wanted it to be done. My friend was there with me, hyping me up, saying I'd look as pretty as those Insta baddies. Hmm, yeah, I mean, I was never interested in them so, whatever?

The long hour finally passed. I looked in the mirror. Oh, yeah, this probably can be pretty cool, I think. Then I changed my mind the next morning I woke up with lashes STICKING to my eyelid. They didn't look anywhere near flattering. They were stiff and looked fried. I was pissed.

At the end of the day, I got sad looking at my lashes. I was fine with them as they were. They're not much, but I didn't have the need to always looked like a certified pretty girl on the internet. Bottom line, I was fine with how I looked, I accepted it with all my heart. The sadness came from the fact that someone else could say something about me and made me think I needed a fix in my appearance. That someone, I have to admit, made me feel like what I was then was not good enough. And being not good enough is easily a trigger for me.

Now I have to live with not only being less than the common beauty standart, but also, my lashes look dead and pissed me off all the time.

Yep.

I Always Wonder

 

A text came in. A picture of stacking books, one of them is Rumi. I instantly remember a promise. He said it's my birthday, I should have asked something. I asked for Rumi, the poet, anything he wrote, I desired. It was a year ago. I haven't owned any of Rumi's. He just bought one, but not for me.

One of Those Mornings

 

My mom once told me that the older I got, the clearer it would be to differ the bad from the good. I believed it. I saw growing older, turning into an adult, meant you had everything figured out. You held your values firm, you had your mind resoluted, you had this map of what would you do in life you basically traced it to reach the finish line. And you wanted to be a good person. That's a good foundation, right? You just wanted to be good so everything fell after was in the work of achieving that.

Then I arrived in a phase where that idea was not 100% accurate, causing a spiralling mental, a disruption of believe and later, an erupting anger for the elders who seemed to simplify what it was to grow up. I was prepared for a straight lane: good degree, a career and white fence house. No one groomed me for a thunder storm. I was caught by surprised. Then spending most of my 20s cursing the north star.

I was angry. I felt as if I got deceived real bad.

I wrote about this narrative for almost a decade now. You can always track them to my old posts. I wrote a lot of Is here, but that's simply the sole purpose of this medium. For me to get angry. Because I don't get to do that in real world. Call it cowardice or probably, despite all the catastrophy, being awfuly considerate roots deep in me to the point of swallowing the lump back inside instead of nastily vomit it out. I don't get to get angry here. I tried. But there's always justification for treating me such, and never enough damage to actually see me as a cripple. I didn't want to make the enemy of a noble cause, so I dug a pit to hide a part of myself.

I am angry. Sometimes.

This morning I woke up to a serene silence, which envelope me like a fetus with a fear of getting flushed out to the real world. I had it good, peaceful, slowly groove to do my cores. The day was still, as if waiting for me to be ready to join its stream. I was feeling nothing in particular, actually got carried a way with the currents of my thought, then......the anger hit me. Slowly, waking up from its corner, then.....red flamming and thighten chest. I got sucked, or probably I've surrendered already from the beginning of it arised.

Still, not good enough to say I am crippled.

All Aboard

Just last week I had an intense wave of emotion saying I should not wish for anything good in life. It's rooting deep, since the past was not the most glimmering story you'd hear on a get together with friends or (especially) family. No one is interested in sappy, quiet story of mending a broken spirit. No one is interested on nursing an isolated child, day by day, step by step, it's a lot of task. No one is interested in learning your shade of greys, for it's easier to put them in either white or black.

Why is it so hard to shake all of those hurt and stubbornly only live by yourself? Why do I think of you during the blur of my days? I was desperately asking God to remove affection from my heart. I fear it will kill me in the near future. I fear it leads me to stray: to greedily consume every bit of it. I kept thinking the origin of this all, all came back to loving too much and not being loved enough. The yin and yang. The fuckin' black and white.

This is a rant, a cluttering thoughts. I feel restless to the point of not feeling anything at all. Where will I end up this time around?

All My Love to You

Earlier this month, I lost my grandma. The one that I like. The one that I spent part of my childhood with. The one with beautiful smile and silky hair.

The whole family knew since April, she didn't have much time left. She was very ill, despite not showing any sign of being severely ill. She was even traveling to Denpasar when we found out about the disease. I was in shock, as everybody was. I immediately flown home and stayed for almost a month cause she's having a big operation to fix her heart. It felt weird hearing such news at first. I though her heart was the one thing that didn't need fixing, it's a gold. It's all started to sink in when I saw her sitting weakly at the hospital bed, several tubes held her body like a rag doll. She was that sick. And I couldn't stand that scene.

I squeezed the most out of my time home. I knew I couldn't stay by her side forever. At some point I had to fly back to Bandung. I didn't have much time. And when you're pinched that hard, you gave almost everything-in your disposable-you could to make memories, to make her happier even for a slightest bit, because sometimes in a near future, you could only stare at her picture and miss her in silence. And I have my own limit, but she knows when enough is good enough. She made it so hard to let her go anytime soon, simply because I would like to be in her grace longer. But if she decided it's time, I would, with all my heart, accompany her to the very last breath, or even after, 'till she's done saying good bye to everyone and decended to heaven. I hope she knows that if she's happy, that's rippling back at me.

Grieving is nothing new for me. But loosing her is as new as the breaking of dawn. I probably need sometime until I'm used of not seeing her whenever I come home. But there's her cardigan in her room, with her scent still lingering, there's memories living within me, with her smiling in joy. It's okay. I can manage.

Happy Birth Day

 

The message was sent 2 minutes before midnight. I listened to it around 8 o'clock the next day. I felt a bit hazy upon waking up. There were many things popping in my head all at once that I couldn't think of anything at all. The message was the first that I read that morning. A dear friend sent me a 5 minutes voice note in celebration of me turning a year older.

She started with a yawn, telling me she stayed up as late as she could so she would be the first to wish me a happy birthday. She said nearing midnight, the sleepiness was unbearable she decided to message me earlier in fear of doozing off last minute. She said she's grateful to ever meet me. She said she knew I didn't want a long life, I wanted just enough time living, even better passing before old age so I didn't need to go through pain. She understood why I said what I said. So she prayed to God, that if I passed earlier, she would get a chance to meet me again in the next life. Whether as friends or sisters. She said she would also love to have me as her mom, that she would be happy to be my child.

I broke down crying.

It's the nicest thing I had ever heard someone said about me. My past experience gives me so many fear of having long term relationship, mostly because I know how much you can hurt someone "unintentionally" then hiding behind the "I care about what's best for you" mirror. Having kids is one of the thing I put a lot of thoughts on. But there she was, having the confidence to have me as her mother in her next life. She trusts me that much and that is such a big deal for me. It was an affirmation for my own doubt not being good enough to care for someone. I was so deeply happy. The moment she said those words, I felt like doing something right in my life. It was such a powerful force to rose my spirit up. It was love. It is love.

I cried for the next hour. My emotion was overflowing with joy. That moment is such a precious one, such a big love declaration, such a soul comforter. I want to hold on to that moment for the rest of my "long enough" life.

Thank you. Happy summer. I'm happy I got tho hear this when I'm alive.

The First Day of Summer 2023

 

Oooh how I love this time of the year. I'm done with broken heart, so all I want to think about what kind of dress I want to wear the next 365 days. Yes, I've decided, it's the year of pretty dress and pretty drink only. I won't settle for any less, that's the old days.

All the razzle dazzle, all the facades that I put on, still I go back to this little girl who loves sitting in the corner with blanket up to her chin, dreaming of coming home. I decide it's a feeling. I'm currently on a sailing journey, freshly out of another year long catastrophy, freshly wounded, but my shoulder is stronger than ever carrying the gratification. Where is home, it will take a while I think. I tried to build one by my own, but I realized it's a bit lonely. So the outcome will either be finding one or getting numb feeling lonely, whichever comes first. I'm not writing my destiny guys, I'm just living one hopefully to the fullest.

It's funny cause, I'm still fighting the same battle, just different party on the other side. I never thought of myself as a warrior. If I might choose I prefer the princess who get forced to marry some king from the rich neighbouring country. At least I'm allowed to be dramatic or dying tragically. But here I am, lifting the honour above my head, picking the noble way. I always laugh when I think about it. I should just go ahead and fuck my own life, be capital "DONE" with it. Get punished severely for breaking God's law. Somehow I'm here, sailing the sea.

Now, it is funny cause the most sane I am is when I get mad. The more my mind get twisted, the more I feel steady on the ground. That's the sign right? When you cross the bridge to full scale lunacy. When you are so close to loose your shit but still sober enough to call a cab home. The in between, the limbo: neither alive or die. Whenever I open my eyes, I feel the blood rushing to my brain. I remember day and meetings scheduled in the next few hours. I remember feeding my cat, opening the window, drinking water. I remember thinking, "here we go again". Somehow I'm here, sailing the sea. It will be the 31th summer in few days. That's a long time. That's way too long for my liking.

I stop beating myself for thinking that way. On one side, I have great things: loving and caring friends, a good job, enough money, entertainment. I'm healthy, my body works amazingly. But this longing, God, a human like me will end up being eaten from the inside. Well if that's the case tho, at least I dress nicely for the occassion right? I simply cannot see the future from this ship.

I want to apologize in advance for the ungratefulness, if this is how this is. I try. I try with all my might. Happy first day of summer, love.

It's Me, Hi!

 

My brain has been deceiving me all this time! I cannot believe I'm only admiting this now, but I learn over the year that being honest takes a lot of courage, especially when you have to do it to yourself. I was rereading my old journal entries when a thought crossed my mind: did my habit of imagining the worst case scenario for something I was so scared to do was actually self sabotage, because if the outcome would be slightly better than my imagination, I took it as an achievement?

That is a dangerous idea and probably a reason why I'm scared of doing something for my own growth out of the fantasy of failure. I unconsiously decided not to commit 100% into anything during my 20s because I was so familiar with the pain of not getting the result that I want (or the approval that I need). I simply didn't want to be disappointed anymore, I had my share of that feeling when I was so young. I had enough of nursing broken spirit all by myself, while others said I should have moved on. Well, now I know I built on a different pace than those people.

Meeting Rich is such a big help for me in this phase of life. I get so much more confidence of speaking my mind and acting the way I see appropriate for myself. It's another liberation for me, like a breezy afternoon, like taking off your uniform to slip into a comfy pajamas, like I have a chance to actually liking my own version of self. I'm allowed to do as I see fit. It's a perculiar experience at first due to the routine of doing the musts and shoulds. It's rooted deep in me. Shedding that layer takes almost a year and a river of tears. But I can say now I'm starting to get a hold of it.

I want to be brave for myself. I've always been one, but in the expense of someone else's. I think my thirties will be more about the courage of getting to know and accepting the human that I am and what I want myself to be, tomorrow. It's scary to choose this, but I sincerly think it's been a long time coming.

Never and Ever

I loose my ability to write. It's been quite sometimes, very close to a year. And it's been the loneliest period of time in my life.

I was alone almost the entirety of my 20s. What I mean is, I handled my own affair. Whenever I felt low and had no one I could talk to, I had my writing: words that came to me, gave meanings to feelings and emotions. It is always a comfort to hear those words, like a blanket, like there's no need to fear they would turn their back to me. It's like faith. Nothing's ever been so solid in my world.

Was it a drunken state or quite storm that swallowed me? I suspected both were the masterminds. But to be fair, I had my share of mistakes in making them happened. I made my own choice, I just didn't know that I had to pay the consequences with something that was so dear to me. Loosing those words left me paralyzed. Loosing those words filled me with tears. I had never before, cried that much in my life. It's overflowing like a river.

I can say now, without loosing those words, I would have underestimated the importance of their role in my sanity. Life is a hard battle field for me. Everyday I wake up and immediately gather my will to carry on, otherwise the day is gonna be wasted, in my melancholy. I learn to note the little things that bring me joy, some tokens to give me strenght. I learn to appreciate kindness that comes in my way, knowing it will soften my edges. I learn so much by loosing first.

Writing is my only truth, things that I might never speak in person, but unavoidable to feel neverthless. I don't think I will do something that will affect its presence in my days. This life is a hard battle field and loves to break heart left and right. I honestly do not have so much left in me to spend on its malicious turns and humors.

I'll stay in my lane.